Bother
by The Full Neko Alchemist
Summary: Malik has nothing better to do.


**Disclaimer**: Wild Arms 3 and all associated characters are not mine.

**Author's Note:** Happy Christmas, Pacwoman.

-o-

Malik appeared inside the office. He'd worked to sunset, and he could waste some time before the last train at 11:30. He seemed unhappy, but it was offset by the motive for their work and the keys he'd taken from his colleague's jacket. But, although five would appreciate the joke, his prey wouldn't. And that made it irresistible. He took a look over the desk and moved the paper weight with his right hand. He moved the pen holder after that, and then put it on the shelf, far away.

He disliked boredom and hated stillness. But his space, like this, was organised. Leehalt would be mad, and that anger was a rush of wind in this hot, metal environment. Their mutual presence was explosive, though Malik knew when to back off. And this surprise was fun. So why stop just because one man got a little upset? He wasn't doing anything wrong.

He thumbed through one of the books, the blue cover catching his eye, but its medical notes were of little interest. He put it horizontally atop three on the middle shelf, taking another item from its designated place, books and survey notes that had stood undisturbed. They were important; that made them valuable. Leehalt couldn't stand mess. Perhaps his contribution would make the winter spent here a happy one.

Only, they had families to go to. It wasn't something Malik liked to discuss, but if Leehalt and he had no-one to see, they had each other. Even if Leehalt said otherwise.

"He should be back in the morning. Can't wait," Malik said. He then left.

-o-

Leehalt arrived to find the office normal and dim, the lamp having remained unlit since the time he'd capped the wick the previous night. He shut the door and walked round the table and, drifting his fingers along the wood, frowned. That wasn't right...

It was a blue paper weight made from the crystal in Dim Root Path. The facets were all of a polished cut with further ones inside, formed from the layers of rock inside the cavern. It was a curious thing – a geological study he'd read said the crystals had formed over ten years: much too swift. So he kept it there as a reminder of his work and its finality; Werner would be forgotten and he would be the better one. He put it back and looked to the right, at the shelf; a book was out of place. Intolerable!

He knew who was responsible, but lacked the right evidence. Malik Benedict. The impish nature of the man was everywhere, an annoying laughter gliding round his room and head, taking this book, that lamp, setting them out of place. Malik no doubt thought it funny, but he tired of the man's games and wanted them to end. Leehalt had his mind on their ages and all the while wondered why a grown man acted like a child. Malik was clever, sure – remarkably so – but his mentality left something to be desired. It was left to Melody to bridge the difference in their temperament. Her presence at the door brought Leehalt to a standstill, and he chose to say nothing.

"Is something the matter?"

"Malik again," said Leehalt.

Melody looked at her watch. "He should be here within two hours."

"Eleven-thirty," Leehalt said. "The train is running late this morning."

"Yes," Melody said quietly. "An obstruction on the line. I came by horse and saw a landslide. If not this morning, he'll be here late afternoon." But she'd come for another reason. "Do you want coffee?"

Leehalt turned to watch Melody, in her white lab-coat and glasses, and shook his head. He raised a dismissive hand.

"I can make it myself. Will you be going home for the holidays?"

"Yes."

And he said, "Who for?"

"My family," Melody said. "It's tradition. But I don't know, I don't really feel the need." And again she was quiet. "I would rather work."

"That is your decision," said Leehalt. "Three of us will be here, at least."

"And Duran?"

"Perhaps. Most of us will be busy. It's a busy year."

"Well you'll be occupied in several hours," said Melody, fingers twisting her plait, "so you'll excuse me if I leave. I have things to do. When Malik arrives, we'll be sampling cells from the samples taken from Dim Root Path – to see if they correlate with the crystal growths."

"Send him here when he arrives. I won't take long.."

"I would like to get his opinion first. I need to decide on a new path. Then I'll send him to you…"

Leehalt gave a nod to Melody, then seeing his wait knuckled into some work, drinking some coffee he made whilst he was still able. The morning passed quickly. He set his inked pen in the holder, touched it gently, and looked at the man who'd, without announcing himself, opened the door. Malik. He sat back and clasped his hands.

"You wanted to see me?" He'd arrived early. "Melody told me I should come."

"Do you know where my lamp is," Leehalt said: he'd hidden it. "I left it; I come back and it's gone, and I don't know why. My keys disappeared; I had to break into my own office. However," and Leehalt paused, "give them to me and I won't see fit to take this further. Keep them, and I'll make sure you lose your reputation."

"Already lost it. Haven't seen it."

"So you deny breaking into my office?"

"Someone broke into your office?"

"You." Leehalt stood behind his desk, watching, pacing, clasping his hands. "In your need for entertainment, you jumble the lives of others. There shall be no more chaos," he said walking to him. "Am I understood?"

Malik was thoughtful. Then he said, "And you can prove this?"

"Yes."

"Oh, but I won't admit it."

"What?"

"You underestimate me, sir. I don't have to prove a thing. You do. But you can't. So, I'll carry on doing it. It's fun. You know it is. Otherwise you'd have done something by now. Thus I have nothing to fear."

"… Just get out."

But Malik left before Leehalt could do anything more. He strode down the corridor and stopped Werner on the way, said he'd be better off not going in, and watched the puzzled man enter the office he'd just left. It was nothing personal; it was entertainment. And it got him attention. It was Leehalt's fault for being so easy to tease. He should just ignore him. But Malik knew he could not, and as soon as he was able, he would find something to annoy someone else.

-o-

Malik went to the board room. He'd had an intelligent thought: he had retrieved the cardkey to lock the elevator, only to take himself back to his workplace; an office that was today free of clutter.

When he had excavated it, Malik had thought it was a key and chain, and he'd waited as the research he consulted let him get closer to an explanation. A Duplicator; it was something he could utilise in keeping certain knowledge secret. But with this item, Malik had to quell the need to discuss it with others. Once details were widespread, they ceased to be mystical; he would find it harder to lie. And again, he was doing nothing wrong. But he needed secrets to protect himself thoroughly in regards to his work, and he didn't want to tell. His hands were clammy in removing Duran's red-covered smut-mag from his unlocked closet. Unlocked now, anyway. Coupled with his Duplicator it was perfect. Then he put it back, quite giddy with expectation, and used his key to bolt the locker. He took a seat at the table where he rested with a glass of water.

He thought about Leehalt, thinking and pacing, in the office by the elevator on the third floor. The old grump seemed not to care about how high or low his quarters were, though he'd always ensured his privacy. And Malik liked to end it. Oh, how he loathed waiting! And how trying it was, that this place of science wouldn't understand what he was trying to achieve.

And they were working on life. Not all were pleased (for different reasons), but the duplicity was shocking.

He thought of Mama's last days, and his left hand wandered to scratch his neck. All he wanted was her back, them together, her hold loving, awakening to see the day, and the time when Filgaia would be healed. His mood was sour as he rested on his arms, an increasingly common occurrence but uncommon in its reason for being. He was more frustrated and tired as the project carried on. Yet he was happy when he thought of what it would achieve.

He noted to go back home and visit Mama's grave, not for a body but memory. The sandstorms would be low this time of year, which made his journey easy. He stood up from the work table with the key he kept on his person and put it inside his lab coat. A sound of footsteps from the hall told Malik Duran wouldn't be as happy as he'd be when he arrived. He had looked through it during the time he, Duran and Pete had been riding a train through the mountains, towards the Yggdrasil System. He was now thinking of it for the third time in as many days. The pages bore ill-coloured spots, a splutter of white over thinly-veiled women dressed in little at all (this made his body shake at the thought) and he had stared at these pictures until Pete laughed and Duran had snatched it from his hands before he found anything funny to say.

He looked at the polished locker-door and thought, Well, I don't have anything better to do. Work's almost over for the day and I need to eat something. Gods, this place is boring. Science never is; there's always something to be discovered. But these walls...

He went into the kitchen and looked around for something to eat: biscuits in metal tins, untouched ginger nuts and small almond-tasting rounds. Those were his favourites. There were two green boxes; dried meat, loose tea, a small portion of sugar. Four loaves in a silver bread bin. All having to last, and though his mind was hard to keep occupied, his stomach only needed the essentials.

He carried a loaf back and heard, "If I don't see you in the morning, I'll catch you on the train. Work, of course. But don't we all need to have a bit of fun before we tire ourselves out? If all's right here, then we'll get this solved soon. And my dreams…"

It was Duran's voice. Locks were unfastened and clothes were removed and shook for dust. Sometimes he missed his free life. He'd been able to travel, go further, faster, and meet new people (bandits got him finance), but his research needed more; more money and resources.

"Hang on," said Duran.

What had Leehalt said? Genius gifted to an immature child. It was a waste.

"Pete, have you seen this? Any idea what it could be?"

A child, Malik remembered himself being called. A child was life with potential, he'd been told; its mind had small knowledge of the outside world. Malik considered this to be foolish, he was in his twenties, and Leehalt ignored this – said he was still young. So Malik had changed allegiance, got himself more respectable work, and earned himself a reputation. He'd been chosen as a member of the council. What he wanted was human approval, direct from whoever it was he chose.

And suddenly Leehalt didn't seem as interesting. The sound of his name filled the air, loud and piercing, and the lights left him tired-eyed when he went into the board room.

Duran was picking at the golden lock, and Malik kept normal so the game could at least be fun. He wanted to see how long it could last.

"Did you do this?" he was asked

He sat on a chair and put his feet on the table. "Lock your porn? You make it sound like I don't have anything better to do."


End file.
